


After the Rain

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Angst and Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lars woke up to the sound of his cell phone going off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Set in late 2002. Way after the "fuck" scene in SKOM.

Lars woke up to the sound of his cell phone going off. He checked ID first -- frowned, muttered, "What the..." -- before the time. "One in the morning?"

Then he picked up the call.

“James?”

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong?”

Silence.

“What is it?”

More silence.

Lars heard rain falling on his bedroom window. 

Then: “I’m outside.”

“What?”

“Your door. Right now.”

“In this weather? At _this_ hour?” He pushed off the bed, fetching his robe off the floor. “The hell are you doing?”

James’s derisive laugh crackled static over the line. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Shit.” He bounded down the steps two at a time. “I’ll be right there.”

He knotted the sash to his robe before throwing the door wide open. 

James, soaking from head to toe, stood like a wet dog on his doorstep.

“Jesus fuck.” He grabbed an arm, dragging him inside. “Get in here.”

He took the two of them into the kitchen, shoving James into a chair, and then rushing to the downstairs closet, fetching a large towel.

A little puddle had formed under James’s seat when he returned into the kitchen. 

He passed over the towel. 

James took it. Ran it over his wet hair. Over his wet face.

Heading out, Lars said, “I’m going to go see about some extra clothes. The last thing we need is for you to get sick, uh?”

He heard James’s faint “Okay” as he left.

A few minutes later, he came back with fresh clothes and a thick blanket. Clothes that belonged to James. Clothes he himself wore to bed, when he felt weak (needy) enough to wear them. 

James sat on the chair with the towel over his lap, the wet clothes strewn across the tiled floor. 

Lars passed over the clothes and the blanket.

James kept his attention down as he took them.

He snatched up James’s wet clothes from the ground. “I’ll put these in the dryer. That alright?”

James nodded.

Standing in the laundry room, with James’s clothes in the dryer, Lars realized a few things: that James showed up in the middle of the night; that he allowed James into his house; that he clothed him, and planned on feeding him; and that James said nothing at all about some of his clothes still being in the house. 

He ran a hand through his hair, hissing through his teeth.

“Dammit.”

Coming back into the kitchen, he found James in his new clothes, the blanket around his shoulders, and those big, wide, clear blue eyes focused right on him.

Then, James’s lips curved into a small, little smile.

Lars’s stomach flipped.

_Shit._

He turned his back to him, pivoting to the stove. “Want something to eat? Some tea?” 

“Tea, please.”

“What kind?”

“Anything’s fine.”

He reached into the cupboard above and pulled out the box of Bigelow’s mint tea he had, and then bent down, grabbing out of the cabinet next to the stove a silver pot. 

From the corner of his vision, he caught James watching him fill the pot with water from the tap.

Lars turned away, placing the pot onto the stove.

The rain hit the windows louder.

Close to boiling point, Lars opened up two bags and reached up back into the cupboard again, pulling out two large, black mugs. 

He turned the stove off at the right moment. 

Grabbing the pot’s handle, he poured the hot water into the mugs. The bags rose quick to the top. 

Lars dumped the pot into the sink.

He reached for the mug’s handles—

“Do you still love me?”

Lars’s hands flinched back.

His back straightened quick.

He stared at the wall.

All he heard was that rain, pounding harder, and harder, like his heartbeat.

Lars looked down at the mugs. Steam rose from inside.

_Do you still love me?_

His chest ached. His face burned. 

Lars clenched his hands and shut his eyes.

He rubbed his fists into his shut eyelids.

Behind him, a chair skid across the floor.

Lars jerked around and watched James leave the kitchen, the blanket left discarded over the top of the chair. 

He caught him in time in the living room, grabbing his arm and yanking him back around.

The unabashed _hurt_ he came face-to-face with galvanized him in place.

James jerked at his hold. 

Lars held on tighter.

James jerked even harder. Again. And again.

On the next jerk, Lars followed the movement, and he pushed up onto his tip-toes, his free hand latched into James’s hair. 

Rough kiss. 

First kiss, in months. In a year.

Lars’s fingers latched on tighter, squeezing James’s arm, crunching James’s hair. He pushed hard against him, fighting when James struggled, tried to get away. But he wasn’t letting go this time. He wasn’t making the same mistake twice.

Slowly, James’s struggles stopped. 

Slowly, James relaxed, and kissed back.

He loosened his hold on James’s arm to slip his arm around James’s waist.

James’s arms followed suit, snaking around his torso, palms flattening on his back. 

His lips curved up, hearing James’s soft sigh. Tasting it on his tongue. Feeling the warm breath from James’s nose spread over his upper lip. 

He sighed in return and tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss. The fingers in James’s hair massaged the scalp. Played with the damp hair.

James’s hands made smooth strokes over his back. Up and down, over his spine, over his shoulder blades. Strokes that relaxed him even more, curving into James. Sinking into his embrace. 

Safe and warm in James’s arms. His James, in his own arms.

They pulled away as one, their lips creating a soft smack. 

Their foreheads pressed together. Their noses brushed.

Lars slid his hand in James’s hair to the back of his neck. 

“I do,” he whispered. 

James’s arms tightened around him.

He slid his head down to the curve of Lars’s shoulder, burying his face into Lars’s neck. 

Lars felt and heard the trembling sigh against his skin, and he tilted his own head into James's with a soft smile, James’s hair tickling his cheek and nose. 

They dozed off together on the living room couch, Lars curled up and curved into James’s side, James’s arms around his shoulders.


End file.
